


Tension

by teztrash (teztime)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teztime/pseuds/teztrash
Summary: Drift's shuttle is really kind of small. Fortunately, he has some ideas on how Ratchet can lower his stress level.





	Tension

**Author's Note:**

> Secret Solenoid fic for RJ!
> 
> _\- IDW: drift & ratchet, maybe with drift teaching ratchet how to meditate in order to help him relax (and low-key teasing him because ratchet is bad at it)_
> 
> Thanks to my betas: jay, sao, and yam. Any mistakes left are my own.

The fourth time that Ratchet knocked over a crate of supplies trying to get to his berth, he snapped. A torrent of curses poured from Ratchet's lips. From the surprise in Drift's face, they were inventive even by Decepticon measure.

The ship was too damn small. It wasn't Drift's fault; he didn't have a lot of choice, exiled as he was. It was a miracle that he'd kept even himself in one piece. Ratchet's gaze turned back toward Drift, whose surprise was fading to something thoughtful. He returned the look with challenge as he inventoried the marks that marred Drift's frame. The sloppy welds of old injuries covered Drift, and there were marks of corrosion and scuffing that he hadn't bothered to clean.

Drift had kept himself _mostly_ in one piece, then.

"What?" Ratchet asked, his engine growling a warning. He slammed metal patches and soldering material back into the crate.

One of the finials of Drift's helm twitched back before his chin lifted. His gaze was level, clear, and without judgment. Sometimes, Ratchet hated that, too. Drift was too willing to accept the slag he dished out.

Drift reached to help return the crate and secure it with the plastisteel webbing. "The ship's small to contain these kinds of negative energy. I thought it would help if you meditated with me."

Ratchet stared back at Drift.

Drift's eyes brightened as he returned Ratchet's gaze, and he began to smile. He looked hopeful.

Ratchet rewound the last five seconds and replayed them. "Drift, when they talk about _"expanding your consciousness"_ ," he said, stopping to put air quotes up around the phrase, "you know it doesn't actually make the shuttle any bigger, right?"

There was a flicker of something like hurt in Drift's gaze, there and gone again. Ratchet's spark twisted. He struggled to blunt his tongue, to neutralize the acid, but it never seemed to work.

"You're stressed," Drift said with sainted equanimity. The evenness of his voice threatened to further rile Ratchet. There was nothing worse than aggressive calm in the face of irritation. "You need to calm down before you chuck a wrench through the hull."

The sharpness of Drift's last words had the contradictory effect of relaxing Ratchet. Irritation shared was irritation halved. He felt under-utilized gears slip into a crooked smile. "I'm fairly sure even I couldn't punch a hole through this hull with just a wrench."

"Medic strength, though!" Drift said with a quick smile. "And a sharpened wrench. Ground to a fine point after months of confinement."

" _Months?_ How slow _is_ this ship?" Ratchet asked.

Drift looked cagey. "Look, go take a seat, and we'll try a simple exercise, okay?"

Ratchet turned under the touch of Drift's hand to his shoulders. He felt the touch of each fingertip like a flame. Any ease he'd found in banter fell beneath the slow-knitting tension of his cables. He was conscious of the lumber of his frame down the narrow hall to the cargo bay turned berthroom.

Drift's hand fell away as he folded nimbly into a seat on his pallet.

Ratchet glared as he folded himself down with rather less ease and rather more creaking. 

Nothing made Ratchet feel more old than watching Drift move. They weren't that far apart in age. Drift might even have been older than him. But the lithe and agile ease of his frame never failed to provoke a gnaw of envy in Ratchet's spark: envy, and hunger.

Ratchet pulled his gaze away to focus on adjusting the angle of his knee and foot. Drift began talking over the small sounds of him settling into place: "There are many ways to meditate. We'll begin with one of the simpler exercises, okay?"

Ratchet grunted his assent. Yep. Okay. Great. He looked back at Drift, and found him waiting with a patient gaze and a quick smile.

"Offline your eyes, and imagine a puddle of mercury," Drift said.

Ratchet grumbled something about pushy swordsmen.

Drift continued, speaking over his muttered complaints. "Imagine sitting before it. You're sitting somewhere safe. Somewhere you're comfortable."

It was easy for Ratchet to imagine himself in the Lost Light medibay. He remembered that familiar discomfort of his chair at his desk. He could almost feel it forcing his spinal strut out of alignment. But when he tried to visualize the mercury, he found himself getting hung up on the potential complications of a spill on his desk. He could hear Drift telling him to focus on the scent of it, the shine of light, but Ratchet was trying to remember what his desk was made of. Would it form an amalgam with the mercury? That could be a problem. The residue it left might corrode his circuits, or any parts he rested on his desk. Not to mention what it would do to his datapads! That could explain some of the corrosion he'd spotted on Drift, actually. How far did that extend beneath the armor? It might be more than a simple patch, he might need a total refit--.

Something of it must have shown on his face, because after a quiet stretch of time, Drift said, "Ratchet."

Startling, Ratchet onlined his eyes and looked back at Drift. "What?" he asked, feeling obscurely grumpy, guilty.

Drift paused, then smiled and rose to his feet. "That was a good start for today."

What?

" _What_?" Ratchet looked after Drift as he walked back toward the front of the ship. "What do you mean, good start? We just sat here! That was a waste of my time!" He leaned forward to call after Drift, "I wasn't even thinking about the puddle!"

"Still a good start!" Drift said with a wave, then passed back toward the pilot's seat.

Ratchet checked his chronometer with a muted grunt of surprise. Okay, a _little_ more time had passed than he thought.

That didn't keep him from complaining when Drift approached him the next day: "Don't see the point of this," Ratchet said. "The pressure in my lines didn't change after our little exercise yesterday, and my spark frequency remained steady." Ratchet folded his arms over his chest.

From the look on Drift's face, he found Ratchet's complaints _funny_. "Okay," Drift said, "so that wasn't the exercise for you. We'll try something else. We'll go even simpler. Really simple. Itty bitty teeny tiny beginner simple--" Ratchet's engine _growled_ at that, Drift's smile widening. "--and think of nothing."

"Nothing," Ratchet repeated, his gaze skeptical.

"Nothing! Couldn't be easier," Drift said, his eyes widening in a way that Ratchet found very suspect. "Make yourself comfortable again." He waited out the groans and squeaks of cables straining as Ratchet thumped back into place. "Now, we'll begin."

Ratchet stared at Drift, who looked back at him for a long moment before his lip twitched in a grin. Drift said, "Offline your eyes."

Ratchet felt heat crawl over his plating as though he'd been caught staring. His eyes snapped off, dark in an instant.

"Let your mind empty of all thought," Drift said.

"Oh, you must practice this one a lot," Ratchet retorted, unable to help himself.

There was a slight pause, and Ratchet began to feel that awful twist of self-recrimination, when Drift said, "It's okay. I know you're only jealous of my profound contentment and depth of peace."

Ratchet snorted, and the moment passed. He thought he even heard a smile warming Drift's voice as he continued: "Think of the emptiness between the stars, or the brightness inside of one. It's an infinite nothing, infinite potential."

This was worse than the mercury. The thoughts crowded Ratchet like scraplets, rushing to fill the silence. He tried to think of space, and he thought of their shuttle, and its battered, puttering little engine pushing them through the black. He tried to think of a star, and all he saw was the star-bright incandescence of light in a failing spark.

Minutes passed, maybe less, before Ratchet snapped his gaze back online. "This isn't working."

"You know it's okay not to be immediately good at something, right?" Drift asked. His tone was dry, but his features were utterly serene, if dark, eyes void of their spark-lit brightness.

Watching Drift, Ratchet thought of the warmth of stars, and the cold between. He shook the thought off, annoyed. "Of course I know that," he began, only for Drift to interrupt him.

"I'm not sure you do, actually. You've been very good at what you do for a very long time. I know the feeling," Drift said, gaze onlining to refocus and meet Ratchet's look. "I was _very_ good at what I did." Between them lay the unspoken fact of Deadlock's terrifying skill before the Circle of Light had found Drift. "Fortunately, I had a very good teacher. I'm afraid I'm the best you have. It's okay. We'll try again tomorrow."

Ratchet watched the way Drift's hands went to the Greatsword as he took a seat in the pilot's chair. Teaching him couldn't be easy. It was clear it pulled on Drift's memories of his time with the Circle, with Wing. Ratchet still didn't know what Drift had lost in Wing, but he saw the way Drift's hands lingered on the blade. He threw himself back down on the pallet and grabbed a datapad to seethe until it was his turn at the conn.

The third day, Drift insisted they needed a change of setting. They crammed themselves into the pilot and co-pilots seats. Ratchet could already feel his knee turning stiff wedged beneath the controls.

His relentless positivity a physical force, Drift turned in his seat. He moved as though unbothered by the chair's limits: lithe, agile. Drift clapped his hands. "Okay. This time, I'd like us to try another exercise, one that's been very important to me. Sometimes it can be difficult to quiet your thoughts, so we're not going to try to do that. First, get comfortable."

Under Drift's expectant gaze, Ratchet made a token effort to wiggle his leg a little straighter. His shin pressed against a chunk of dangling cables, hanging half-repaired from beneath the controls. Ratchet tried not to think about how fragile that repair might be. He grunted. "Okay. I'm comfortable."

"You aren't," Drift said, nose wrinkling in a way that made Ratchet want to throw something, "but it's okay. I want you to think of a recent negative experience."

Ratchet gave Drift a sardonic look. "Being held at gunpoint by Hellbat's minions?"

Drift puffed a sigh of exasperation through his vents. "I was thinking more, you know, knocking over that crate the other day."

"Okay," Ratchet said, exaggerating the effect of his words as he humored Drift. "Knocking over a crate."

Drift gave Ratchet a medium glower, then continued forward: "Right. Well, the way you view a moment imbues it with energy, positive or negative--"

It was at that point that Ratchet started to groan. Drift talked over him, for a while. "--you can reframe the moment by viewing it through a compassionate lens, compassionate even to yourself. Change the memory's energy, and change _your_ energy--"

"Biggest load of scrap!" Ratchet said.

"--by _recasting things_ ," Drift said, continuing to try to talk over Ratchet. There was a note of warning in his voice that Ratchet didn't notice until far too late. "By putting things _in a positive light _, you can create a more _positive self-experience_ \--"__

__Ratchet snorted explosively, but was still caught by surprise when Drift slammed his hand on the console._ _

__Ratchet's complaints died in his throat with the click of his vocalizer as he looked back to Drift._ _

__Drift's eyes were no longer a peaceful, tranquil blue; they simmered like fire, spark-fire. His tone was as sharp as his sword, and measured as carefully, so as not to wound: "This is not a joke, Ratchet." He steadied his voice. " _I_ am not a joke."_ _

__Drift left before Ratchet could string his words together. To his shame, his first impulse was an argument. They stopped not long after to refuel. Cold silence filled the shuttle. Drift left shortly after paying for the fuel and the bay._ _

__It was a busy station, caught at a major trading crossroads. Ratchet wandered the concourse, taking the time to stretch his limbs. He attracted attention, but not as much as he expected. There were enough cybernetic lifeforms on the station that it was his badge that put others on edge. The galaxy had learned to be as wary of Autobots as Decepticons, but a few shops catered to mechanicals. Standing outside a body shop, Ratchet found himself studying the shining armor behind the glass. His own reflection was dull against it._ _

__When Drift returned to the ship, Ratchet was waiting for him outside. For a moment, he wasn't sure that Drift was going to speak to him. Drift looked from Ratchet to the shuttle and back again. Drift's gaze softened, and Ratchet released a vent he hadn't realized he was holding._ _

__"Drift--"_ _

__"Ratchet--"_ _

__Tripping over each other's words, they stumbled to a halt. Turning a datapad over in his hands, Ratchet said, "You first, I guess."_ _

__Drift waited only a moment before nodding. "I wanted to apologize for losing my temper," he said. "This -- isn't easy for me." His words were slow, fractured and hesitant. He looked away from Ratchet, and took a moment to square his shoulders and lift his chin. Steeling himself. He looked back, and his words were easier, if softer. "I'm not Wing. I'm not as good as Wing, in a lot of ways, but I want to help you, if you'll let me."_ _

__Shame burned through Ratchet's tanks. He looked down at the datapad in his hand, and then pushed it out toward Drift, gruff: "Here," he said._ _

__Drift took the datapad with an air of mounting concern that Ratchet scrambled to relieve. "It's for a refit. Full-frame refit. You look like scrap. I can't fix that armor. It needs to come off. They've got the facilities here. I can fix it. Fix you, fix your armor. What I mean is -- I'm sorry, too."_ _

__Drift looked up. Ratchet could see when the last of the tension left his frame, and found his own frame relaxing as Drift smiled. "Okay."_ _

__In the end, Drift didn't actually give in until Ratchet gave in, too. Days later, they found themselves back on the ship, shining in a way that cast the shuttle's grime in sharp relief. "We have _got_ to clean in here," Drift muttered._ _

__The narrow of Drift's waist distracted Ratchet as he followed him back onto the ship. Ratchet slammed into that same fragging box of repair supplies on their way back through the ship. He caught it before it could quite clatter to the ground, and lifted his head after he replaced it to find Drift watching him, smiling._ _

__"Well, you didn't explode this time, so maybe the meditation is helping." Drift eyes were bright as he teased._ _

__Ratchet held up a finger to argue. The truth of it -- that he didn't want to explode, and draw Drift's attention to the fact that his eyes had been glued to his aft -- kept his mouth shut. He let his engine kick over in a low-gear growl._ _

__"It can be hard to get used to a new frame. But--!" And Drift rose on his feet, bouncing. Ratchet missed what those little bounces had down to the armor of Drift's hips and thighs in his old frame. He _liked_ the new frame, but he would miss Drift's old frame. It was the frame Ratchet knew when they first really came to know each other. "Meditation can help with that," Drift finished._ _

__Ratchet sighed. "Of course it can. You know what? Sure. Let's go." With a hand to Drift's back, he pushed him forward, further into the ship and back to their pallets on the floor._ _

__They sat facing one another, and Ratchet found it came to him a little more easily. Drift slid lithe and smooth into place, of course. Ratchet's spark tightened, then spun in a quickening whirl as he watched Drift's thighs fall apart in their cross-legged fold. Ratchet looked away, frame heating. He knelt, not quite that flexible, opposite him._ _

__"Drift, I don't know--."_ _

__"Ratchet," Drift interrupted, gentle but firm. "I know this has been hard for you. It doesn't come easily to anyone, although I know you don't believe that. It's a skill. Skills take practice. But I appreciate that you are willing to try, and I think this will work better for you." He smiled, and Ratchet's objections dissolved under that gentleness._ _

__He was in so much trouble._ _

__"Fine. Let's get on with it." Ratchet rested his hands on his thighs. He found himself conscious of where they lay, of the angle and lines of his body, under the weight of Drift's gaze._ _

__"Okay." Drift's gaze lingered on Ratchet's hands, which twitched in a quick clasp before he forced them flat. "This is actually a meditation to help us both with our new frames. I know that it's difficult for you to clear your mind. I think it will be easier for you to have something to focus on -- something that feels _productive_ for you to focus on. Offline your optics and begin to focus on the feel of your frame._ _

__"Feel the pulse of your spark in your chassis, the swirl of energon in your tanks, the tension of your cables and the strength of your struts," Drift said._ _

__Ratchet's spark felt like a traitor, and his thoughts were no better. Thinking of his own frame inevitably brought his thoughts to Drift's, opposite him. Even with his gaze offline, his imagination drew its sharp lines with a familiarity he had no business having already. They did _such nice work_ on the station. The change of frame had done nothing to the attraction that Ratchet had been doing his best to ignore. If anything, it sharpened. Ratchet couldn't ignore the fact that he loved the spark within the frame._ _

__His energon was hot and cold in his lines under the imagined weight of Drift's gaze. Ratchet didn't know what Drift saw when he looked back at him. His eyes had brightened when he saw Ratchet's new frame, but his eyes were always bright when he looked at Ratchet. There was a note in Drift's voice, as he talked of cables and struts, and the strength within, that almost caught Ratchet's attention._ _

__Drift had to notice the way that tension inched higher, because he laughed at a faint and muted creak from Ratchet's arm._ _

__"Okay, let me -- try this from a different angle," Drift said. Ratchet could feel the smile, even if he couldn't see it. He could hear it spilling warm in Drift's voice. Ratchet grumbled something that Drift talked right over with the ease of habit, now. "Start with your hands. Start with the smallest finger on your hand, and activate the effector, just at the end. Don't move it: be aware of it. Know that you can move it. Feel the tension in your cables and belts, and then allow them to relax."_ _

__Although he felt stupid, Ratchet did as Drift told him. When he relaxed, his finger slid warm over the armor on his thigh. "Good," Drift said, and walked Ratchet through the rest of his frame._ _

__Drift was thorough. He paid attention to Ratchet, to his hands, and to his arms, and to his shoulders. He lingered there, and they listened to the soft sounds of buried strength in Ratchet's frame as he relaxed._ _

__Then Drift asked Ratchet to move, so that he could focus on his legs. Ratchet unfolded from his kneeling position. When he hesitated, unsure, Drift reached out to guide his legs. Drift bent them at a shallow angle, with his feet resting on the deck. He set Ratchet's legs in a wide angle with just enough room for Drift to fit between his feet._ _

__Ratchet's spark rolled, skipped, and thudded with a flare of heat as Drift began to walk him through the lower half of his frame. His pace never changed, but his voice deepened: no longer light, no longer laughing. Drift spoke with a rising tension that Ratchet noted, but it felt distant. Ratchet's frame relaxed beneath Drift's voice, and under his direction. He had never been so aware of his own body. Even when injured, halfway to offlining, cataloguing his injuries and mentally preparing a list of instructions for whatever unfortunate medic was stuck with his repairs, Ratchet had never felt this kind of whole-body awareness. Or ease._ _

__"--let the weight of the ship pull on your joints, let your hips relax. Let the deck take your weight. Good." There was a pause. Ratchet wondered where Drift was looking now. His frame heated under an imagined path. When Drift spoke again, he still managed to surprise Ratchet: "Now your spark," he said._ _

__Ratchet was _right_ , Drift's voice had changed. There was a very faint fuzz at the edge, a hint of static, that some portion of Ratchet's mind couldn't help trying to diagnose. An incompatibility with his frame? Different charge potential in the cables between old parts and new? Might need attention--._ _

__"Feel the way the energy pulses, rising in waves to carry through your frame." Drift's words shattered Ratchet's focus, drawing his attention. It was easy to follow his words, easy to listen to him. His frame was more relaxed than he had been in a long time. Years. Before Earth, maybe. His spark pulsed, feeling almost young and wild and full of an energy that Ratchet hesitated to name. The rush was heady as it surged through his processor. The power and heat of the energy as it settled through his frame felt as sure and certain as gravity. "Focus on the frequency of your spark," Drift said. "On the cycle of your ventilations. Listen to the air as it circulates through your system--."_ _

__Drift's words broke off. There was a moment's electric awareness. Ratchet knew what was going to happen, felt the potential of it before the first touch of Drift's white hands to the glass over his chest. "Ratchet?" Drift asked, his voice high and uncertain again._ _

__Ratchet onlined his eyes. Drift watched him uncertainly, his dark face bathed in the sparklit brightness of his gaze._ _

__Ratchet didn't know what his face was doing to make Drift look that way, or to make Drift smile as they watched each other, but he knew he couldn't stop it._ _

__Smiling now, Drift said, "Ratchet, I'd like to kiss you."_ _

__Ratchet reached for Drift, confident in his frame, in his reach and his strength. He muttered something, but this time they both ignored it as Ratchet gathered Drift against his chest. Their ventilations snapped into sync with a shivering pulse. The pull of their lips across those last inches was magnetic._ _

__They didn't meditate any more that night._ _


End file.
